Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters of the Phantom of the Opera, and owe all credit to Gaston Leroux. Certain elements of the story have also been borrowed from Susan Kay's The Phantom as well as Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical.

I held the invitation back in my hand, admiring my own work. I had added just the right amount of flourish to my handwriting that it now seemed almost calligraphic. With great care, I set it down on the desk, and began to rifle through the drawers for an envelope.

Raoul had been reading quietly in one of the soft armchairs while I had been writing. However, I could now sense his eyes following me with a playful curiosity.

"Dearest, what are you looking for?" he finally asked me.

"An envelope for the invitation."

"I thought all the invitations had been sent out already," he said, a bit alarmed, "The wedding is tomorrow, Christine, and you still haven't delivered them yet?"

I stopped looking through the desk and ran my eyes back over the lone invitation. Slowly I traced the gold leaf around the edge of the thick paper.

"All but one," I replied softly.

I waited through the confused silence, and I could feel the horrified realization as it rose through Raoul.

"I will not allow it," he said in an icy tone.

"You made a promise to him, Raoul," I said, staring blankly at the wall ahead of me, "We made a promise to him."

Raoul stood up and was quickly at my side. He grabbed my face, forcing me to look into eyes, perhaps hoping I could read the fear they portrayed.

"He is a madman, Christine, I would have promised him anything if I had thought it could get you out of there."

I jerked my head from his hands, and stood up defiantly from my chair.

My head raised high, I took the invitation from the desk and told him firmly, "I will keep our promise, whether or not you approve."

I stalked away from the desk and watched as Raoul tried to take my arm to keep me from leaving. Suddenly, I felt the invitation slide from my fingers, and I realized I had misjudged the target. I turned around as Raoul began to shred the invitation, the tiny pieces fluttering onto the floor.

"I thought you had grown up, Raoul De Chagny," I hissed, "but it seems you are still nothing but a spoiled child!"

Raoul flushed deeply at those words, and I stared at him for a moment before storming out of the room.

I ascended the stairs rapidly, tripping over the hem of my own skirts as I climbed. I was sure everyone in the household had heard our argument but I wasn't about to start caring. I ran into my room, and threw myself down onto the bed. Tears began to brim the edges of my eyes, and I thought about spending the day pouting here in my bedroom.

I suppose I'm no better then Raoul, I thought, pressing my face further into the pillows, it seems we are matched perfectly in our childish ways.

In an attempt to prove myself wrong, I sat up on the bed and wiped the tears away from my eyes. It hadn't been until then that I had thought to make good on my bluff to Raoul and venture back on my own.

In truth, I was just as terrified as Raoul about returning to the Opera House, but even now I would not dare to betray Erik's trust again. I had expected Raoul to play the role of my knight in shining armor once more, but it was stupid of me to think that he would willingly take us back into the bowels of that nightmare.

I slowly rose from the bed and crossed the room to my closet, and fingered through my dresses until I found a dark cloak near the back corner. I pulled it up around my shoulders and clipped the fastener into place around my neck.

I allowed myself a quick glance in the mirror, carefully tucking a few stray curls back from my face. I knew that vanity would not be an issue tonight, but I should at least look presentable out of respect. I hurried out of the room, bashing into my maid just as I rounded the bend to the main staircase. I blurted out an unconvincing apology before continuing down the stairs and out the front door.

After tripping my way down the cobbles of the walkway, I finally made it out into the street. I hailed the nearest cab and instructed the driver to take me to the Paris Opera House.

"Mademoiselle, I am afraid the Paris Opera House was burnt down several weeks ago," the driver told me, obviously excited to think that I had not heard this bit of gossip.

"I realize that," I replied fiercely, "I want you to take me to what's left of it."